Unpolished part of a three(?) part story...

Part One: First Dose
My first encounter with him was brief. It was typical and ordinary, yet classic and tasteful, like a little black dress draped across a curvy vixen. It didn’t seem important at all, that night, and maybe it still isn’t. I can only tell you what I feel, and keep in mind that isn’t always fact. But then again, what is?
I was in town on business—well, sort of. I needed something from a friend. To be honest I can’t recall exactly what it was, but that’s not the point. Bruce, and I call him that mainly because I don’t like to call him his other name, was finishing up with him, taking him away to Arkham to put him and his obsessive “girlfriend” away. At that point, I didn’t know much about her, or the relationship, or him really. So at that point, I couldn’t understand why she was so passive and with no question simply allowed him to do as he pleased, even if that meant harming her which it did on many occasions. He was controlling, influential, omnipotent—a one man show. Those were the only excuses I could find for her, and for me, to put my machine mind to rest.
Of course, these were things that I had only heard of, and never actually witnessed until that night…sort of. By “sort of” I mean that I hadn’t seen him do anything to her or to anyone because by the time I had arrived, Brucey already had them…I’ll say apprehended, to word it nicely. It was quite a spectacle, seems they both were up to their classic ways. Him with the henchmen and senseless yet humourous quips, Bruce with his upside down tie-ups, leaving them to sway in the wind for a bit before he took them in himself. I suppose he was one of those personal calls, the ones that you’ve got to do yourself. I could only make assumptions, really. But I’ll admit that I did peek a bit into B, and his mind had a very different story to tell. Not his own story; that was an area even I was afraid to touch upon. Every time I’d get close to it, I’d get a surge of pain to my temples, the kind you get when you stick a steel needle into a plug socket. He felt that the countless men with painted faces and pistols, gal at his right hand, old jokes exposed down his sleeve, that they were a diversion, that he had a bigger plan as he always did. Again, this was all new to me; could very well be the wild imagination of an amnestic, outlandish, android type.
I followed as Bruce dragged in the poor thing. He seemed so thin, so pallid, so lanky. It was quite hard to believe that this man could be such a powerful criminal; a master of his craft, the Clown King of Crime, if you will. It made him all the more alluring. I helped with the girl, holding her handcuffed hands, as Bruce held his, walking through the cracking powdered white halls that reeked of that nauseating hospital smell. I never much liked asylums…Anyway, at one point, he fell down to his knees. I knew it was purposely done; the waves in his mind easily showed it, but the others couldn’t tell as was proven when she shrieked in fear—actual fear, for his safety. He twisted his neck to look back at me, emerald eyes glittering in the faint lights, and then he did something so pure, so true, so...furtive. He smiled.